


73 Questions

by Loxodontack



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Light Dom/sub, Love, Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 17:50:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6668395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loxodontack/pseuds/Loxodontack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watching the '73 Questions' series on the Vogue website had me pondering how Miranda would respond. Then there's always Andrea's response to consider. This is the result.</p>
            </blockquote>





	73 Questions

Title: 73 Questions  
Rating: M/NC-17/Mature/18  
Fandom: Devil Wears Prada  
Pairing: Miranda/Andy  
Warning: This is rated adults only.

Disclaimer: Don't own them, just hoping to bring them closer. Anything you recognise from the movie or extra's is not mine! They were originally Lauren Weisberger's but by the time I got to them they were Fox's. I do however own all the mistakes herein and apologise for any that offend your grammatical sensibilities.

 

Miranda couldn’t believe she had agreed to this ridiculous interview. Naturally the series of interviews ‘73 Questions’ was genius, Andrea really is a very clever girl. Although the idea of being asked and deigning to answer such pedestrian questions herself was nearly insufferable.

She heard the insipid fool, who would conduct the interview, disrupting the whole office setting up some trite scenarios. Seriously, did he really think anyone would believe they were natural occurrences? 

‘Miranda’ glancing up she saw the quivering mess that was the latest Emily. ‘Everything is set.’ With a brief nod the girl fled her office to let the farce begin. 

“Hi, thanks for letting me come by, I'm just here to ask you 73 questions.” What an obvious statement given the title of the section, she anticipated this would be the tone of the entire six minutes. With that she settled back, assuming the appropriate facial expression.

“What time did you wake up this morning?” Well, well that was an interesting question. “5 o’clock.”

“What’s the first thing you thought of this morning?” Were there actual thoughts? “Runway.” 

“What do you usually have with breakfast?” “Coffee”

“How long have you been in this office for?” Really, that is such an unspecific question it doesn’t deserve an answer. However, in the interest of pleasing Andrea she would give an answer. It is approximately 10:30am now “Three hours.”

“What's one of your favourite things in this office?” Thinking quickly, she realised there was only one answer possible. “My desk.”

“What's one thing in this office you've had the longest?” Does anyone really care about this drivel? “The desk.”

“Write down the one fashion word you wish everyone would stop using.” How to choose, there are so many. So many unnecessary words that seem to be in vogue and overused right now. Leaning over she thought of the last one she heard. Journey!!. Everyone was on a ‘journey’ yet going nowhere.

Reading the cue cards Miranda briefly thought about staying exactly where she was. But with a deep internal sigh decided to follow their direction. Coming around her desk she was horrified to see the selection of clothes Serena wheeled into the office. It wouldn’t do to kill her with witnesses, Andrea would be very disappointed in her. 

Then Serena dared to address her directly “Here are the clothes for the December lead, what do you think?” In a huge effort to seem reasonable she would respond, however heads would roll after filming stopped. “Where’s the colour?” She had no interest in any potential response so continued.

As she made her way through her reception area she heard the grating voice of the interviewer. “What's an accessory you've had for ages?” Yet another unspecific question, any answer will do. “My necklaces.”

“What is an item of clothing you've had the longest?” Really, I am the arbiter of fashion. She had nothing beyond this season in clothing she would be willing to discuss with this ingrate. “I can’t remember.”

“Do you have a favourite family heirloom?” The only family worth having is the one I have in the town house. “My memories” All those from the day my babies were born until the moment I left for work this morning.

As she was walking by Emily called out to her. Seeing her disdain for this theatrical display, which reflected her own, was almost amusing. However, her first assistant played along, true to her wishes. 

“Miranda, Mr. de la Renta has a question he’d like to ask you”. With that she heard Oscar’s voice, 

“What is your favourite type of flower?” As if he doesn’t know already. He was probably thoroughly enjoying the situation; she would be sure to repay him appropriately. “Bellis Perennis.” 

Time to be on her way. 

“What is your favourite season in New York City?” That requires no thought. “Spring.” Hope.

“Uptown or Downtown?” “Downtown.”

“What is your favourite museum in New York City?” Really, could she respond with any other? “The Metropolitan Museum.”

As she walked down the corridor a young woman dared walk by and started prattling. 

“How do you feel about Brooklyn?” Who was that person? Obviously none of her minions were brave enough to take on the task. This pleased her. “New Silicon Valley.” 

“What's your favourite musical of all time?” “Mamma Mia.” Meryl Streep is wonderful.

“What's a musical you'd love to have a part in?” “Mamma Mia.” As wonderful as Meryl Streep is, I’m better.

“What is your favourite play?” “The Importance of Being Earnest.” It was a play seen with Andrea, and she had enjoyed the evening.

“Who is your favourite comedian of all time?” “Anna Wintour.” Let them consider that for a moment.

“Who is your favourite action star of all time?” Whether to reveal the truth, hmm. “Hugh Jackman”

“Who is your favourite singer of all time?” “Taylor Swift.” She is, after all, next to grace the front page of Runway.

Finally, she had reached the closet. Something about this room always centred her, in a way few other rooms could. How had they roped Anne Hathaway into this ridiculousness?

“Quick question, leather or lace?” On you, me or someone else? “Lace.” The number of unspecific questions being asked was disgraceful. 

“Velvet or fur?” “Fur.” Appalling. She supposes she should be thankful she wasn’t the only person drawn into this charade. Anne seemed willing enough to play along.

“Vintage or new?” “New” There is absolutely no value wallowing in the past or looking back with rose tinted glasses. The future at least is filled with possibility.

“Polka dots or stripes?” Surely Anne did not compose these questions, she was always so articulate and intelligent when they had spoken before. Miranda respected her enough to answer. “Both.” Situation and accoutrements were everything.

“What would you never ever wear?” Andrea would be watching this at some point, she had to be very careful. So many visions of what she had already worn flashed through her mind. “Head to toe black.” There, safe enough.

“What’s the best fashion trend of all time?” “The next one.” 

“Besides lipstick and a phone what are three items you always have in your bag?” That man really shouldn’t be allowed to talk. Anne at least had a pleasant voice. How he got this job was beyond her. “I rarely carry a bag.”

“Miranda, what bag should get my girlfriend?” Where did all these strangers come from, she would ensure security had at least vetted and tagged them before letting them roam through her dominion. “This one.” She responds waving vaguely in his direction. 

“What is the first thing you notice about someone when you first meet them?” “Their smile.” Andreas flashes through her mind, she really is looking forward to returning home today.

“If you had to name your absolute biggest phobia, what would it be?” Enduring another interview as ridiculous as this. “Spiders.” Socially acceptable, if completely false.

Finally, she sees Maria approach with her sun glasses. This is all becoming a little much.

“Miranda, there's no windows in here, why are you putting those on?” Impertinent fool. “To better avoid you.” She smiles to lessen the impact for the camera.

Time to move towards the planning room. 

“What are you reading right now Miranda?” Wouldn’t you like to know? “The Curse of Beauty by James Bone.” 

“What's your favourite book?” “To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee.”

“What's the last book you read?” Doing her best not to smirk she responds. “When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi.”

“What's a book you wish you'd have written?” “The Harry Potter series.” Her Bobbsey’s would love that.

“Who's the most fashionable literary figure?” “Scarlett O'Hara”

“Who is the literary figure who has most inspired fashion designers?” “Oliver Twist”

“What's the best vacation spot?” Fortunately, she was walking away with her back to him as she was unable to stop the flush that overcame her. “Home.”

“What country have you always wanted to visit?” Much safer. “Egypt.”

“Favourite country to visit?” Does he think I’m a travel consultant? “France.”

“What's the best part about your job?” Meaning, influence, art. “The people.”

“How do you feel about horoscopes Miranda?” Did he really think using my name is going to ingratiate him to my favour? “I hate horoscopes” 

“If you could make a documentary what would it be about?” Fashion obviously, however Andrea wanted me to show another side. “Tennis.”

Walking into the Planning Room she can’t help but notice the errors in placement, all the work to be redone. She would ensure she was appropriately scathing in the book tonight.

“How are you enjoying this interview?” “Is it over?” This must be the longest six minutes of my life, even worse than that awful Paris Fashion Show in 1998.

“What's the most surprising thing in the September Issue?” Thing! Next he’ll be saying stuff. “Cooking with Marijuana.”

“What's the second most surprising thing in the September Issue?” He is really trying my nerves. I can do anything. Even this for six minutes. “The cover.”

“What will you not find in the September Issue?” Your clothes. “Head to toe black.”

“How often do you play tennis?” Less often now than I used too. “As often as I can.” Unless I get a better offer.

“Who would you want on your team in doubles?” “Mixed, Roger Federer. Women's, Serena Williams” 

Another forgettable face peers around the corner. “Miranda, how many emails do you write each day?” Do they think I have the time to sit around counting my emails? Idiots. “I’m sure I have no idea.”

Finally, the cue card goes up to indicate they are heading back to her office. This will be over soon and order can return to Runway.

“What's your favourite cocktail?” Did he do any research for this interview or did he wake up this morning and throw together the most nonsensical questions he could. “I don’t drink.”

“Your water, sparkling or flat?” Surely everyone knows at this point. “Sparkling.”

“Coffee or tea?” Nearly there. “Coffee.”

“Favourite food?” “Steak.”

“Least favourite food?” “Broccoli.”

When she turned the corner and saw her own office once again she released a sigh and knew this farce was drawing to a close. 

“Favourite dessert?” Hmm now that is another interesting question, not that he’ll ever get the answer. “Coffee ice cream.”

“What's your guilty pleasure?” Certainly plenty of pleasures, none I ever feel guilty about. What was that programme Andrea made me watch last night? “Watching How to Get Away with Murder.” Perfect. I still have it. Every last one of them look like they may faint. Must smile for the camera.

Someone sitting in Emily Two’s seat squeaks as I walk by “Donatella is on the line, where do you want to have dinner next week?” As if there’s a question about it. She doubted Donna was actually on the phone. “Le Bernardin.”

“What kind of phone do you have?” “IPhone 9.” Wouldn’t you like to see it? I can see you practically salivating.

“Who was the last person you texted?” “My daughter.” Don’t you dare pursue that line of questioning.

“What is the greatest invention of all time?” “Anything by Apple.” After all they were very accommodating with the amendments to my new phone.

Rounding her desk, she enjoyed the feeling of returning to her helm.

“Stationary or email?” Did he purposely keep the worst questions to the end? “Both.”

“Letter or postcard?” Seriously, these barely deserved a response. “Both.”

“Favourite website?” “Runway.”

“If you could invite anyone over for dinner, who would it be?” “All the female senators” 

“What would you talk about?” “Why there are not more female senators.”

“What have you learned from your children?” Selflessness. Patience. “Love.” But I have come to realise they did not complete the lesson, my Andrea did that.

“Do you have any pets?” My darling Patricia. “Yes.”

“What's your biggest regret?” Agreeing to this interview. No, no, this too will end. There is no point to regrets, they are for the weak. Besides I couldn’t be happier with my life, exactly as it is now. “I don’t have one.”

“What's the least true rumour about you?” How am I to know what the rumours are? I have no concern for what others think of me. “They’re all true.”

“Miranda last question, can you put back on those glasses and take a selfie with my phone?” “No. That’s all.”

At last. Now she could return to her work. Six minutes wasted. She would try to make them up so she could leave on time this evening. No doubt all the disruption will have distracted her staff from their work and will impact their productivity for the rest of the day.

~~~###~~~

Unfortunately, her predictions of delay came true. Andrea had arranged for food to be delivered early evening so there was no need to go to the kitchen. Her babies were with her father this week, so she went straight up to the room she shared with Andrea as per the text she had received. 

When she walked into the room she could see Andrea lying on the bed and could hear her own voice giving the responses she had earlier in the day. That nightmare interview. Although the smile Andrea shone in her direction almost made the whole fiasco worthwhile.

“Hey Mir. You were great.” Andrea came over and gave her a hug. She melted into the strong arms that surrounded her. “Emily sent me an advance copy of the interview.” Miranda nodded, she assumed Emily would. “Someone was naughty and didn’t tell the whole truth.”

Miranda felt a rush of energy and interest run through her at Andrea’s suggestion. “hmmmm.”

“Yes, perhaps I should ask you some of the questions again to see if you do any better.” Miranda pulled away and saw the glint in Andrea’s eyes. She nodded and indicated she needed to get ready. 

“Ten minutes.” Andrea smiled and let Miranda go.

Ten minutes later Miranda walked into the bedroom. Andrea had created an intimate glow with candles lighting on nearly every surface and soft music playing. The bed covers were pulled down and Andrea stood leaning against the dresser.

“Now Miranda, stand front and centre.” Miranda did as bid. “I’m going to ask you some questions and I expect comprehensive answers. Do you understand?” Miranda nodded.

“So Miranda, what time did you wake up this morning?”

“The first time I woke up was at two ‘clock. The second was at four o’clock and the last time I woke up was at five o’clock.”

“Very good Miranda.” Andrea favoured her with a coy smile. 

“What’s the first thing you thought of this morning?” Andrea had a smirk on her face.

“Runway.” Andrea eyed her sceptically. “When I first woke I couldn’t think of anything. The sensation of you pulling on my breasts made it difficult. All I could do was feel until I went back to sleep. The second time I was completely distracted by the fact you were sitting on my face. Then my only thoughts were about your pleasure. That was before you turned around and brought attention to our mutual pleasure. When the alarm at five o’clock went off my first thoughts were of Runway. Wondering if anyone would notice if I didn’t turn up, as I could have stayed wrapped in your arms all day.”

“Well done. See wasn’t that easy? Definitely a more robust answer to the questions asked.” Andrea came over and kissed her on the cheek. Miranda stayed very still. “Good girl.” Miranda was nearly brought to her knees. She needed this.

“What's one of your favourite things in your office Mir?” Andrea asked as she circled her.

“My desk. It was across my desk we first met. I first saw you as more than an assistant across my desk. Our eyes met before we had our first kiss across my desk. I was lying across my desk the first time we had sex. You told me you were resigning so our relationship could develop across my desk. You spread me across my desk on your last day of work and made love to me until one day passed into the next. My desk is my favourite thing in my office.”

“Very good Mir. That desk is a wonderful piece of furniture.” Andrea ran her hands up and down Miranda’s arms, occasionally raising her hands to kiss her knuckles, then slowly licking and sucking her fingers. “What's an accessory you've had for ages?” 

“My necklaces.” With Andrea’s nod she continued. “I’ve kept them as you gave them to me on our first anniversary. You demonstrated how strong they were when you made love to me with them.” Miranda was distracted by Andrea as Miranda produced them. “You trailed them all over my body, …. hit my nipples with them, …. held them around my neck, …. put them inside me … in three places …. then carefully cleaned them so I’d be able to wear them in public.” As she responded Andrea replicated the feeling, hinted at the memory before placing them on the dresser.

“Oh Miranda, you are delectable.” Now Andrea was kissing across her shoulders. “What item of clothing have you had longest?” 

Finding it harder to think as Andrea started nipping her neck before soothing the skin with her tongue Miranda struggled for an answer. “The evening dress I wore to our first ball.”

“Why did you keep that one?” Andrea’s hands and lips began roaming her body.

“I couldn’t bear to let it go with the others from that season. Couldn’t, couldn’t imagine anyone else wearing it.” 

“Why was that?” Andrea sucked on the sensitive point behind her ear.

Groaning Miranda tried to form an answer. “You ravished me so thoroughly that night. …. hmmmm …. I couldn’t think, …. couldn’t breathe, couldn’t remember my name until the following …. uggghhhh …. afternoon. You devoured me, were relentless. I wanted to keep it. Thinking if you left me I’d at least have the memory. Ooooohhhh Andrea.”

“Never. I’m never leaving you.” Miranda nearly collapsed when Andrea bit her nipple though her negligee. “Next question. What is your favourite type of flower?” 

“Bellis Perennis. They are the flowers my babies picked out for me the first mother’s day they chose their gift.” Andrea was switching between her breasts teasing her mercilessly. She was finding it harder and harder to focus on the answers. 

“Why did Oscar ask you that question?”

“Because they were included in all floral arrangements at our wedding. We had them everywhere. He thought they were there because you liked daisies. Thought you were the one who liked the common flower. Oh God, please.” Andrea was circling her now. She was prey, frozen in place. 

“Hmmm” The vibrations shot tingles through her entire body. “Hmmmm” She couldn’t take it, when would she be able to move? 

“And?” And? Oh, she nearly forgot the question. 

“When I explained the reason to him …. Oscar defended the flower to some of the other guests. Oh. He knew. He was. He was reminding me of his affection. Of a happy day. Ohhhh please. Andrea please.”

“You’re doing very well Miranda.” With that Andrea ran her hands up either leg from behind and as she stood cupped her. Miranda’s knees shook. Andrea was so close to where she needed her. “Such a good girl. My Mir.” She gravitated towards Andrea. Their breath mingled as Andrea kissed her deeply. Andrea made her presence known between her legs, pushing and grinding her hands.

When Andrea withdrew from the kiss and stilled her hands, Miranda nearly cried. “What is your favourite season in New York City?” 

“Spring. Spring. Hope. Fresh energy. Warmth.”

“Is there more?”

How did she know? How did she always know? “After. So. Long. There. Was. Hope. You. Came. To. Me. In. Spring. Please. Andrea. Please.” Miranda needed. She needed her Andrea’s touch so deeply. Her permission. 

Andrea ran her hand over Miranda’s breasts, down between her legs and just held there. The other hand was pinching her nipple. “Do you want to?”

Miranda nodded, tears in her eyes threatened to flow.

“Yes Miranda. Do it.” Miranda started grinding against the solidness. Frantically. Shamelessly. She needed this. It wasn’t enough. Would never be enough. Miranda felt her nerves shooting pleasure from her centre. Consuming her. It wouldn’t be enough. But it was a start. 

Miranda kept grinding. Moaning. “Come for me Mir.” Suddenly she was there. Crying out. Her legs gave way. Andrea held her. Wouldn’t let her fall. She was safe.

“Gorgeous. Miranda, you’re absolutely gorgeous. I love you.” Miranda tried desperately to catch her breath. Find her footing. 

When she recovered enough she gave a quick nod of her head. “Now Miranda. What is your favourite museum in New York City?” 

On automatic pilot she answered. Still trying to regain her breath. “The Metropolitan Museum.” Her bottom was slapped, she was reminded she had to give full answers. 

“The Metropolitan Museum. I love the annual gala. All the glamour. The recognition of hard work. The attention.” Andrea had restarted her exploration. Except this time there was no pattern.

“Would you like their attention now Miranda? Would you like to display yourself like this?” Miranda felt a jolt. Of course she wouldn’t. But just the idea, the suggestion was enough for the images to cross her mind.

“Hmmm. Yes, Miranda, you like that idea.” Andrea ran her fingers over her legs again. Except this time, she didn’t stop, she pulled her negligee over her head. Miranda was now completely naked. “What is your favourite play?”

“The Importance of Being Earnest.” She committed to giving the same answer she had given earlier; she knew that was expected. 

With a throaty chuckle Andrea growled “Why is that? Especially considering you so adamantly refused to see it when I suggested it.”

“You made me go. In those initial weeks you, you played me so well it became so I couldn’t not go.” She winced at the phrase. Thinking of those initial months where Andrea asserted herself so thoroughly in her life. Secured her compliance with unyielding love, compassion and passion. 

“Is that all?” Miranda remembered the time so vividly. The awakening of a self she thought completely left in past fantasies. Longings awakening slowly and steadily. The constant struggle between fear and trust, vulnerability and safety. She shook her head.

“Then before we found our seat.” She paused, just the thought of that evening made her breath catch. Andrea took her hand and brought her over on shaky legs to the side of the bed. 

“You brought me into the ladies. Into a cubical and bent me over.” Oh, Andrea did exactly that now. “You bent me over. Played with me. Ohhhh God.” She was doing it. She was doing it again. Miranda felt like screaming. Andrea was pushing against her. Using her fingers, her tongue, their toy.

“Yoooou inserted …. the largest toy we’d ever used into me.” She could hear her wetness as Andrea played with her. She would be mortified if she wasn’t so incredibly turned on. She felt Andrea move their toy into position. Before slowly, oh so slowly pushing it into her. The push and pull drawing all her attention to Andrea’s actions.

A sharp slap to her bottom reminded her what she was supposed to be doing. “You, oh you brought me to orgasm. I had to be so quiet. So very quiet.”

“And then?”

“Then you, oh …. then you left the toy in me. Oh. Oh. You held my hand. Led me into the theatre. Into my box. …. Then as we were watching the play, oh you, oh you turned on the vibratooooooooorrr.” Miranda arched up as she felt the deep vibrations start within her. This time though Andrea was manipulating the vibrator. Pulling it out, pushing it back into her at a steady pace.

After some time, Andrea slapped her bottom again. “Miranda?”

“Oh you, you brought me to the edge over, and over, and over again. Never letting me have the release I craved.” Miranda could barely think. “I didn’t see the play. I. I had no idea what was happening. All I knew was that you were there. You were in charge. You played me. Played WITH me.” It was true, all so true. “Until I couldn’t take it anymore. I was ready to scream. Oh please. Please let me.” Miranda was there again, aching, needing, desperate.

“Like this?” She nodded, just like that. She was throbbing. She could barely understand what was happening. She needed release. Wanted it more than she had that night. In the dark theatre. Grabbing at Andreas arm. Clawing at her. There in her box. She had looked out over the faceless people knowing they might see, might hear, but not caring. Unable to care because only one thing consumed her. Andrea. Andrea and the pleasure she could bring. On that night she had rendered Miranda mute and blind with need. 

Then she heard that one word, just as she did now, that meant everything. “Mine.” was growled into her ear. It had become so undeniably true. That had been the first night she had acknowledged it. She was Andrea’s. Then as now it calmed the frantic energy coursing through her. She was safe. She was loved. She was there to please Andrea. She belonged.

Andrea stopped all motion. Moved around her, trailing her nails over her back. There would be marks. She didn’t care. Then she was there. Legs spread. Lying in front of Miranda.

“You know what to do?” Miranda look up, looked into her eyes and saw her world. Then with a nod from Andrea she lowered her head and licked. Consumed.

Andrea was wet, so very wet Miranda feared she may drown. It didn’t matter. She knew what she had to do. What she wanted to do. Needed to do. 

She tried to block out the feel of the vibrator working relentlessly within her. Tried not to visualise what she must look like. Bent over, ass in the air, eagerly feasting on her younger wife. When she felt Andreas legs shake, noticed her movements become irregular, she acknowledged once again in the deepest recesses of her soul nothing else mattered. Only this. This connection. This woman. This perfection. Miranda stayed exactly where she was.

After long minutes Andrea ran her hands through Miranda’s hair. Tugging, she pulled Miranda on top of her. Miranda went willingly, her legs were shaking uncontrollably. Her body felt like one huge exposed nerve. “Are you okay baby?” 

Writhing over her wife Miranda couldn’t stop moving. “Yessssss” 

Andrea ran a hand between them and started playing with her. “Is this what you need?”

“Yes, yes, oh please, yes.” A quick pinch, added to the relentless stimulation within, brought her so close. So very close.

“Do you know what you need?” With tears rolling down her face she nodded. She knew.

A hard stroke, a deep kiss, and a growled “Come for me Mir.” threw her over the edge. She came screaming Andrea’s name. Andrea didn’t stop and Miranda came again and again. When she was nearing the point of pain Andrea turned off the vibrator and just held her.

Long moments later she came back to herself, wrapped in her Andrea’s arms. Andrea peppered kisses across her face, letting her know she was loved and cared for. Gently she felt Andrea remove the vibrator, before placing her into the position she always slept in.

“Will you drink this for me?” Miranda nodded her head and took a sip of the drink Andrea held out to her. “Some more now.” Again she did as she was bid.

“Good girl.” Was all she heard before curling against her Andrea and falling asleep.

~~~###~~~


End file.
